Marvel Template System:Spectrum

Several years had passed since Chris became the "bouncer" at Weasel's bar.

During that time, he managed to save the world, start his own business—his "genius" ideas actually worked!—get married, and have a few kids.

What more could you ask for?

He's a billionaire, a world-famous superhero, and every morning he's woken up with a blowjob!

And...

Who would believe this crap?!

Wake up, Chris, you shit yourself!

Yeah...

Chris often noticed this flaw in himself. Excessive thoughtfulness and daydreaming...

Only a week had passed since Weasel hired him. At first, Chris assumed his job was just to "calm down" overly rowdy customers, but that was just one of many tasks. In reality, he became Weasel's replacement, his deputy, the second bartender, and so on and so forth... Basically, he did everything in the bar, and if he didn't know how to do something, he learned.

It still amazed him that Weasel had managed the bar alone all this time. Sure, the cleaners came after the shift, but still... Every night, for eight hours—and often more, since the bar sometimes stayed open past six—dealing with a crowd of not-so-stable customers all by himself...

In short, despite his rather "eccentric" personality, Weasel knew his stuff. And, surprisingly, he taught Chris well.

He taught him how to make cocktails, introduced him to the cash register, introduced him to the regulars, and by the end of the week, he even left early, handing over the keys! Chris felt a little awkward about such trust! Awkward, but pleased. And so, he gave it his all.

Of course, at first, many either didn't trust the new face or tried to test his limits. But a few broken arms, noses, and other important body parts made them accept that this scrawny kid was now the new bartender-bouncer-handyman.

And as Luke said, the pay here was great!

For a regular shift, Chris made a hundred and fifty bucks plus tips. And don't underestimate the tips! On good days, the tips could be more than the salary. Surprisingly, they split them evenly—forty percent to Weasel, forty to Chris, and twenty to the cleaners who came at the end.

In just one week, he could earn over a thousand bucks! Sure, life in New York—even in Harlem and Hell's Kitchen—wasn't cheap, but it was more than enough for daily expenses! He finally stopped feeling like a burden on Jessica's neck, paid rent, bought groceries, and even had some left over.

And the people here were pretty nice! They were rough, sure, but hilarious. Although... sometimes the "alien" atmosphere of this place made his brain short-circuit for a few seconds.

For example, one time Weasel was explaining the rules to him...

- Anyway, - Weasel said with an indifferent expression as he sorted bottles on the shelves. - There are some rules you'll need to get used to. For example, don't touch someone else's powder! And if you want to "kill yourself," go to the bathroom.

- But I don't do drugs, - Chris frowned.

- Whatever, - Weasel sighed. - I need to go to the bathroom... Powder my nose, so to speak.

Or...

- We don't judge anyone here if they, say, get a random boner during work.

- But I don't have that... problem.

- I do, though.

Or this...

- If you piss yourself out of fear when someone threatens you—no big deal, - Weasel coughed awkwardly. - We have an understanding staff who keep spare pants in the closet.

- What staff? - Chris looked Weasel up and down skeptically. - There's two of us!

- Pissing your pants isn't a crime!

- Are you trying to convince me or yourself?!

In short, all the "unspoken" rules mostly applied to Weasel. And they were weird, yeah...

Of course, his best friend couldn't leave her "puppy" unsupervised... At least, that's how she framed it.

- Chris! Chris, you bastard! - The drunken voice of the girl had become almost familiar to Chris's ears. And he couldn't imagine Jessica without swearing and hysterical provocations. - Pour me... - The girl let out a loud burp. - Pour me another... what's it called?!

- On the house, - Chris sighed and poured another shot of whiskey into Jessica's glass.

Of course, there was no such thing as "on the house"! Chris was spending his own money to please his friend. Both Jessica and Chris knew this, but...

Chris just couldn't bring himself to refuse or get annoyed at her. He just couldn't! After all, she had done so much for him... Helped him in his darkest hour, and now he was supposed to begrudge her a few bucks?!

- Chris, more! Chris, you bastard, pour me another one!...

...especially since there was almost no money left from today's shift.

After downing another drink, the girl decided to take a nap, resting her cheek on the bar. Seeing this, Chris breathed a sigh of relief. The monster had eaten and retreated to its cave.

- Yep... - A voice from the other end of the bar commented mockingly on Jessica's actions. - You know, Chris, sometimes I think that even when she's asleep, Jessica keeps drinking, but in her dreams. She's got her own bartenders and her own debts there, but one thing remains the same—whiskey.

Turning around, Chris, now used to this, saw one of the bar's regulars—Wade Wilson. One of Weasel's few friends, and also a popular mercenary.

Some say he's a former special ops soldier, others—a mercenary from Africa. But one thing's for sure—Wade Wilson is also a legend in his own right. Though he doesn't take on "dirty" jobs, he handles smaller tasks with a remarkable success rate. Almost a hundred percent. "Almost" because in their line of work, there's no such thing as a completely reliable client—they either lie or don't pay—since, technically, all this activity is illegal.

By the way, "brokering" smuggling, contracts, and other deals is also one of the bartender's functions. But these tasks were among the few that Weasel hadn't shown him. And that's fine, really, Chris wasn't eager to get involved in all that.

- How's it going, Wade? - Chris poured another drink into the mercenary's glass. - On the house...

It's not like Wade and Chris had become close friends. But, first of all, there wasn't much money left from the shift anyway, and second, he always wanted to get Wade—a native of the "other" universe—to talk about a certain topic.

Chris didn't know who Wade was, but he was sure he was somehow connected to the mutant universe.

- Listen, - Chris decided to cut to the chase. - You're not a... mutant, are you?

In the broadest sense, a "mutant" is an organism that has undergone transformation due to external or internal influences. But for some reason, Chris was sure that his definition of the word was fundamentally different from the "mutants" his father had talked about. And it probably had nothing to do with nuclear power plants or Chernobyl. Chris hoped that at least "mutants" weren't invaders who devoured people alive.

But he remembered Jessica once mentioning mutants in the context of "superhumans." She said it and then immediately forgot. From that "incident," he could conclude that no matter how the universes merged, there shouldn't be any catastrophe. Most likely, at some point, people would just... live with mutants. And they'd think they'd always lived with them. The universe is a funny thing.

- Is my skin blue? - Wade smirked, taking a sip from his glass. - Or do I have steel claws in my wrists? Although... - Wilson pretended to think deeply. - Does having a huge dick make you a mutant?

- Oh, God!... - Chris pretended to be scared. - Does that mean I'm a mutant?!

- Ha-ha-ha... - Wade laughed, extending his hand, which Chris slapped. - Good one!...

Wade Wilson was a charismatic guy. Very funny and talkative to the point where you sometimes wanted to shut him up.

- But why the questions? - Wade smirked. - Afraid I'm with the Brotherhood?

Chris blinked in confusion. He had no idea what this "Brotherhood" was, but for some reason, it seemed like Wade expected some kind of reaction from him. Judging by the context, a negative one...

- I don't care... - Chris shrugged.

- Well, then listen up. The life story of Wade Wilson, - the guy sighed and put on a thoughtful face. - I grew up in the North, in Winterfell. But I wasn't a legitimate son, just a bastard of Eddard Stark...

- Are you retelling Game of Thrones to me?!

- You've seen it too?! Tell me, wasn't the last season just meh?!

Yeah... Sometimes Wade was difficult. Very, very difficult, because his attention span was like a goldfish's, and he had no filter. In short, having a constructive conversation with the mercenary was no easy task.

- Sweetie, - the smoky voice of some random prostitute reminded Chris that he was here to work, not chat. - Lately, I've been a bit short on cash, but maybe... - The worn-out brunette pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek a couple of times, hinting at "payment." - We can work something out?

Prostitutes weren't uncommon in this bar. But even when Chris thought he'd gotten used to the whole... atmosphere, some incidents still made him... freeze.

He really didn't want to lose his virginity to a worn-out prostitute, no, he really didn't... And as luck would have it, Jessica—his number one tool for sending away random creeps—was asleep. So, while Chris was trying to come up with a response, none other than Wade came to his rescue!

- This little boy is mine today, - Wade winked at the girl and slapped her ass, shooing her away. - Get in line, Nancy!...

- If you change your mind, - the girl whispered in a smoky voice. - I'm always waiting...

Awkwardly nodding, Chris relaxed and exhaled.

- Thanks, Wade, - Chris nodded gratefully.

- Here's some advice for the future, - the mercenary smiled. - Don't mess with prostitutes and strippers! Trust me, they've "killed" guys way more experienced than you, and you... - Wilson shook his head. - They'll eat you alive. Especially Nancy! Half of Hell's Kitchen has been in her mouth! And the other half has been there and died of STDs!...

- I'll keep that in mind, - Chris smirked. - Unfortunately, I don't have any experience in these matters... By the way, Weasel mentioned you have a girlfriend...

- Vanessa, - Wade smiled even wider. - By the way, she used to be a prostitute...

Chris didn't know how to respond to that. He was just speechless.

- Got it, - Chris awkwardly coughed into his fist.

Fortunately, Weasel finished his business and returned behind the bar, breaking the awkwardness between them. He came out with an extremely satisfied expression and very demonstratively—you could even say boastfully—zipped up his fly.

- Chris, Nancy's drinks are on the house tonight!...

This time, both Wade and Chris were speechless.

Exchanging glances with the mercenary, the young guy crossed Weasel.

- We'll light a candle for you.

- What the hell are you talking about?!

Yeah... This bar was a gathering place for the dregs of society.

But...

It was interesting here.

******

This time, the routine—Weasel getting drunk and leaving early—flipped. That is, Weasel had a sudden burst of conscience and decided to let Chris leave early before the weekend. Honestly, Weasel's early departures didn't bother Chris too much, especially since in those cases, he took a larger share of the tips. But leaving work early? That's always nice.

The past week had been... great. No jokes, no "buts," no hidden pitfalls.

He got a job with a decent salary, started building a financial cushion—well, at least the foundation of one—and settled into a daily routine.

The only downside was the lack of time to test and hone his abilities. He wanted to just head out of town—preferably to some scrapyard with heavy "weights"—and train. To feel his own strength, so to speak. But that wasn't a big deal either; Chris was planning to do just that over the weekend. Even Jessica agreed! Of course, even though she had her own powers, she didn't want to miss the show... of a superhuman.

Waiting for the bus, Chris boarded and paid immediately. Surprisingly, the bus was almost full, even though it was around four in the morning.

Sitting down in an empty seat, Chris relaxed and exhaled. Sure, his enhanced stamina kept him from getting tired—especially from bartending—but that didn't mean the shift from work mode to off-duty didn't change his mood. Just psychological quirks.

- Hi, Chris.

Chris blinked in confusion when an unremarkable, dark-skinned man sat down next to him.

How did this guy know him? A bar regular?

- Hi, - Chris greeted him, a bit awkwardly. - Do we know each other?

- Not exactly, - the stranger's oddness lay in the fact that he spoke like a robot. Dead eyes and a quiet, monotone voice. - But we both know Jessica well.

That didn't mean anything! Jessica had acquaintances all over New York, and even more people knew her without actually knowing her.

- Jessica belongs to me.

Ah...

Got it...

Some jealous idiot who thinks he's the center of the universe?

First of all, if Jessica had a boyfriend, Chris would've known about it by now. They'd been living together for two weeks, after all.

And second...

He just couldn't believe Jessica had a boyfriend! Especially one so... ordinary? That just wasn't her style!

- "Jessica belongs to you?" Congratulations, - Chris smirked sarcastically. - And what's your name? Jack Daniels?

The most likely motive for this stranger was jealousy. And jealousy is a negative emotion, so Chris didn't even need to try to engage. He just needed to send such "suitors" either packing or to Jessica, though there wasn't much difference.

- My name is...

- I don't care.

Chris raised his hand, cutting off the stranger. He realized he was starting to lose control of his emotions. Why not just get off the bus before someone's limbs started breaking? Admittedly, gaining power had significantly weakened his self-control. Does power really intoxicate that much? Apparently, yes.

- I'll just walk...

Chris's words got stuck in his throat as he stood up and looked around. Because...

Every single passenger had a gun pressed to their own temple.

Kids, elderly people, teenagers, middle-aged adults...

Each of them stared at him with dead eyes, fingers on the trigger.

The scene was just... staggering. And terrifying, to say the least. But it was crystal clear.

"Sit down, or we'll blow our brains out!"

- Who... - Sitting back down, Chris looked at the stranger again, but without disdain. Now, Chris was more focused than ever. - Who are you?

- My name is Kilgrave.

*****

The persistent knocking on the door pulled Jessica out of her drunken half-sleep.

- F*** off!

The knocking didn't stop. Ideally, she should open the door, but she was so lazy that... Well, no, she was just lazy.

- F*** off! - Jessica repeated her polite message.

But she didn't live alone...

- Chris, if you forgot your keys, you can f*** off too! I'm not getting off this couch!

But the knocking didn't stop; instead, it grew louder. And eventually, Jessica had to drag herself up and open the door, since it wasn't made of iron. It had been kicked in a couple of times—Jessica—ripped off its hinges—also Jessica—and just broken in drunken stupors.

- Bitches, - Jessica muttered, grabbing the doorknob. - If you're here to sell a vacuum cleaner, I'll shove your junk into the tube and press the button...

Jessica was... rough. Fierce. A foul-mouthed, ill-mannered alcoholic with an extremely high tolerance for booze.

In short, "timid" was definitely not her thing!

But as soon as she opened the door and saw the visitor, all her drunken bravado vanished. Her face paled, her gaze locked onto the smiling face, and her hand crushed the doorknob into a pile of scrap metal.

- Hello, - the man's voice was polite, even tender. So much so that the contents of Jessica's stomach immediately demanded freedom. - My dear Jessica...

- Kilgrave, - Jessica muttered in shock, only for her voice to fill with unprecedented hatred the next second. - I'm gonna turn you into mincemeat, you bastard!

Kilgrave put a finger to his lips and clicked his tongue in disapproval, as if scolding her approach.

- Have you already forgotten how... "thoughtful" I am? - He smirked slyly and pointed behind him. - My friends came to support me...

Glancing behind Kilgrave, Jessica was both horrified and unsurprised.

This manipulative, power-hungry, arrogant piece of scum was... well, a piece of human garbage. But he wasn't an idiot.

All her neighbors, everyone living in the small four-story building, held grenades in their hands. Without pins.

Which meant that if Kilgrave lost control for even a second—say, in the event of an extremely painful and bloody death—all these people would drop their payload. And then... Well, all of them, including Jessica herself, would be blown to bits.

- The past year hasn't been kind to you... - Kilgrave said in a mockingly caring tone, sending shivers of disgust down her spine. - But my Jessica would never step over corpses. You want to seem strong, but your inner weakness won't even let you walk past random strangers. My soft-hearted, vulnerable, yet prickly Jessica...

She wanted to vomit.

She wanted to deliver an uppercut so hard that Kilgrave's skull would fly into space.

She... She wanted to run away and never come back.

But that bastard wouldn't let that happen.

- Shall we talk? - He smiled "sweetly."

*****

- What do you want, Kilgrave?

Apparently, the world decided that Chris was doing too well, so it dumped a pile of crap on his head. Otherwise, he couldn't explain the "zombified" pedestrians holding guns to their heads.

He wasn't even sure if the man sitting across from him was really Kilgrave.

I mean, this guy had the same "empty" look as the others...

- I need you to never approach Jessica again, - "Kilgrave" replied without hesitation. - You'll forget she ever existed, you'll forget the way to her house. I'll even be so "grateful" that I'll give you, say, a million dollars as a bonus.

- A million? - Chris swallowed. - A million American dollars?!

- Of course.

Naturally, it never crossed Chris's mind to "forget" Jessica!

First of all, she was his best, first, and only friend! You could say she was the person closest to his heart.

Second, Kilgrave... well, he was terrifying. The kind of terrifying that goes, "I'll take a whole bus hostage to make my point." And for some reason, Chris felt that Kilgrave's attraction to Jessica wasn't mutual. Jessica just wasn't the type to be into... guys like that. Not her style!

It's just...

Chris was already scheming how to screw over this creepy stranger. Like, punch him in the face and take the money! That's how things are done in Harlem!

- Two million, - Chris said after a brief pause.

- Fine.

- Three million!

- No.

- Two million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine dollars!

- Two million, - Kilgrave said in a dead voice. - Final offer.

- Fine, - Chris immediately backed down. - When will you give me the money?

But in his mind, Chris was asking something completely different...

"Where and when are we meeting so I can kick your ass and take all the money?"

- We've already arrived.

- This is Jessica's apartment... - Chris muttered awkwardly at his own place of residence.

And for some reason, Chris had a feeling he wasn't the only one who initially planned to break the deal.

*****

- Imagine... - Kilgrave sprawled on the couch like he owned the place, while Jessica kept her distance but didn't take her eyes off the bastard. - Imagine if one day Chris decides to... say, go on a rampage in the middle of the city?

Jessica's face darkened, but she didn't respond.

- Or... - Kilgrave pondered options. - Wants to kill the mayor... How about that, huh? How long could you protect him?

- What do you want?! - Jessica finally snapped under the pressure.

Kilgrave just smiled sweetly.

- All I want is you.

*****

- Jessica! - Chris shouted, running up to the door of their apartment. - Jessica, are you here?!

Kicking the door open with one strike, Chris froze, his mouth agape.

Jessica wasn't there.

- You son of a b****...

There was only a pile of explosives.

BOOM!

---

... It was pretty easy to tell when Jessica was asleep versus when she was agonizing over the possibility of starting another drinking binge.

All you had to do was take out your earplugs and listen. If your eardrums and the windows in the apartment were rattling from snoring, Jessica was asleep. If not—Jessica was awake.

Once, it so happened that neither Jessica nor Chris could sleep, even though it was almost morning. Chris had just come back from his shift, and Jessica... wasn't sleeping. This happened to her often; insomnia was one of her biggest problems.

- Jessica, - idle curiosity prompted Chris to start a conversation. - Why do you drink so much?

- Isn't it obvious? - The immediate response confirmed that she wasn't asleep. - I don't want to be sober.

- Why?

- Because people are shit. Life is shit. And people who ask pointless questions are also shit, - Jessica grumbled at him. - Asking an alcoholic why they're an alcoholic is almost as stupid as asking someone with depression why they're depressed. Because life, Chris.

Behind the ton of cynicism and sarcasm, there was often genuine wisdom. Jessica was only a few years older than him, but he took every one of her lessons to heart.

But still...

That didn't mean the course of action Jessica had chosen was the right one.

- Maybe you shouldn't drink so much? - Chris cautiously attempted to lecture her.

- Maybe you should go f*** yourse...

- Cough-cough-cough!... - A desperate cough, caused by the dust in the air and his lungs, brought Chris back to his senses. Or rather, it was one of the stimuli that helped him regain consciousness...

SYNCHRONIZATION [Berserker ???] [Rank: Legendary]: 41%

Phantasm [Rank: A]: God's Hand: Twelve Labors [5/12]

Another death.

Apparently, Chris had walked right into Kilgrave's trap. Fear for Jessica had driven him to a place filled with explosives, which had likely blown him to pieces. The only consolation was that the death was so quick he didn't even feel the pain.

The confined space only confirmed his suspicions. He was buried under the rubble of his home—or what was left of it.

Straining with all his might, he managed to crawl out bit by bit. The hundreds of tons of concrete were a significant obstacle, but not insurmountable.

His clothes had burned off, and his body was almost black with dust and soot. But all these inconveniences, including the potential claustrophobia from the weight of the debris pressing down on him, were trivial.

Although... He should make a mental note not to blow himself up in a pile of explosives. Turns out, it significantly increases the chance of death. Who would've thought?

Little by little, meter by meter, Chris made his way through the rubble, climbing out. He didn't know how much time had passed, but at some point, it felt like the entire city had collapsed on him, not just a four-story building.

But when he saw the dark—orange from the fire—sky peeking through another pile of ruins, Chris's spirits lifted.

Of course, the extremely "vivid" impressions would return to haunt him in nightmares, but... He had survived. Almost.

- Wow, - the smug voice already infuriated him with its implied mockery. - He actually survived! Jessica, your new "friend" is pretty good!...

Ignoring the furious girl and some jerk in a purple suit—probably Kilgrave—Chris turned around. To where his home had stood just a few minutes ago.

And now...

Just a huge pile of burning rubble. It wasn't surprising that such a large amount of explosives had brought the building down like a house of cards. But still...

His home was completely destroyed. By this creature...

- Kilgrave, - Chris gritted his teeth and turned to the smirking man. - I'll kill you!...

- Now, now... - Kilgrave waved his hand, then pointed to the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. - If you kill me—they're all done for.

From the rooftops of all the surrounding buildings, zombified people with grenades in their hands stared down at him. And it wasn't just his neighbors—it was everyone Kilgrave could reach. Children, teenagers, women, and the elderly. Kilgrave didn't care who died for his benefit. In fact, the more "pitiful" the hostage, the better.

- We'll see... - Chris snorted and, ignoring his own nudity, lowered his body, clearly preparing to lunge. - Just wa...

- Lie down.

One.

One damn word from this smug bastard locked every muscle in his body. An incredibly conflicting feeling when you command your body, but it doesn't obey.

Chris wanted to scream, wanted to jump and rip Kilgrave's head off, but...

He couldn't.

Sweat poured from his body, Chris gritted his teeth in the struggle, but he couldn't do anything. Second by second, he obeyed Kilgrave's command, first kneeling, then pressing his entire body to the asphalt. He couldn't even speak!

- I think this is your place, - Kilgrave smirked. It was clear that smugness and control over others were his true pleasures. Although, in the first seconds of the "struggle"—if you could call the chaotic twitching from side to side that—he seemed surprised. But once Chris obeyed the "lie down" command, the confidence returned to his gaze. - Don't you think so, Chris? Answer.

- Go... to hell...

- No, not like that, - Kilgrave laughed and shook his head. - Say you enjoy groveling.

- I...

- Say it! - Notes of irritation began to seep into his voice. - Now!

- I... - Chris clenched his teeth in humiliation. - I...

Jessica couldn't watch this anymore. Grabbing Kilgrave by the collar and shaking him roughly, she screamed in his face.

- Stop this clown show, you bastard!...

- What exactly don't you like, Jessica? - Kilgrave played dumb.

- The fact that we didn't finish this, you piece of trash! Why the hell did you blow up Chris?!

- Well, he didn't die, did he? - His annoyance at this fact was incredibly obvious.

- You said you wouldn't touch him if I went with you!

- I couldn't help myself, - Kilgrave smirked, completely confident that Jessica wouldn't kill or maim him while Chris and a bunch of innocents were under his control. - And I don't like your tone, my dear...

- I don't give a damn what you like! - Jessica, though aggressive, clearly felt powerless. She couldn't do anything to him, and Kilgrave knew it perfectly well.

- We're out of time, Jessica. They've come for us.

Indeed, several vans had arrived at their location, and soldiers in full—fully equipped—gear poured out. Like a small personal army, they surrounded them and aimed their rifles at Jessica and Chris.

- But before that... - Kilgrave turned to Chris, who was lying on the ground, with a sly smile. - I want to hear Chris grovel.

Jessica clenched her teeth in anger.

- Enough of this...

- I'll decide when it's enough, - Kilgrave snapped at her. - You still don't get it, sweetheart, but you don't have much of a choice. Be grateful I left your little puppy here instead of ordering him to, say, destroy every police station he can reach. And now... - Kilgrave looked back at Chris and smiled condescendingly. - Say you enjoy groveling...

- I...

His own body wouldn't obey him.

- Enjoy...

His mouth formed the words on its own. He wasn't the one shaping the words or exhaling the air.

- G...

But he didn't want to give in to this bastard! Really...

- Gro...

There was one option. But he wouldn't be able to control himself either.

- Grovel...

But it was worth it.

Phantasm [Rank: C]: Mad Enhancement

An exclusive skill of Berserkers that allows them to increase their base parameters in exchange for their sanity.

Activates in two cases:

In response to numerous physical and psychological traumas, or at the will of the Chosen One.

Warning:

The coefficient of additional strength depends on the degree of loss of sanity. Be careful, Chosen One!

ATTENTION! YOU HAVE USED THE MAXIMUM ENHANCEMENT COEFFICIENT!

And then...

Chris was lost in a sea of rage and madness.

*****

He came to his senses after tearing apart another one of Kilgrave's mercenaries. It was like someone had pressed a button, and his senses and self-awareness returned.

Frowning in confusion, he looked at himself.

Naked, covered in soot and blood. A disgusting sight. Around him lay broken bodies, weapons, torn-apart vans, and pools of blood.

And...

He didn't remember destroying Kilgrave's little army. One moment he was sweating, lying on the ground, and the next—he was standing bloodied amidst a pile of corpses.

- Chris...

Chris turned around in shock, feeling a smile spread across his face. The situation was inappropriate, but seeing Jessica mostly unharmed filled him with joy. The biggest risk had been here—Chris was afraid he might kill his friend in a fit of rage—but apparently, even in "that" state, he could distinguish friend from foe. Or maybe Jessica had just left a deep impression on him.

- Jessica! - Chris walked over to the girl but frowned when he saw her holding a bloodied but still breathing Kilgrave. The man looked at him with superstitious terror, but Chris's heart warmed at the fact that the smug bastard was too scared to even open his mouth. But that wouldn't save him. - Step aside.

- What?...

The punch from his right hand, aimed at Kilgrave's head, only hit the asphalt. Pulling his hand out of the hole, Chris looked at Jessica in confusion as she stepped between him and Kilgrave.

- Are you out of your mind?! - Jessica yelled at him. - Look up, you idiot!

Glancing up at the rooftops, he saw the same scene. Dozens of people with dead eyes and grenades in their hands.

- I barely saved him from your drunken rage! If you kill Kilgrave now, all these people will blow up!

- So what? - Chris asked calmly. And Jessica...

Froze in shock. For the first time, Chris had surprised her so much that she was at a loss for words. But snapping out of it, Jessica continued to push her point as if Chris hadn't understood the first time.

- Chris, there are children, - Jessica said patiently. - Elderly people. And they're all innocent. They're victims.

- I'll ask again, - Chris pursed his lips. - So what?

- So what?... SO WHAT?! - Jessica exploded. - If you, you idiot, don't understand that your actions will kill these people...

- I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THEM!

His shout silenced Jessica again. And this time, the disappointment in her eyes... Jessica's disappointment in him hurt more than any bullet or bomb.

- My whole life, no one gave a damn about me, - Chris added almost in a whisper. - Why should I give a damn about them?

- But... - Jessica looked him up and down uncertainly. - I thought you...

- What? You thought I wanted to be a hero?! Like f***ing Captain America?! - Chris laughed bitterly. - Why? Because I'm... weak? Timid and insecure?! Like the perfect mold for a "superhero" who saves everyone and everything?! That's why I'm supposed to save every random passerby's ass?! I never asked them for anything, never demanded anything from them, and that means I don't owe anyone a damn thing!

- Chris... - Jessica didn't know how to respond. - There's a difference between indifference and... this. I saved you, didn't I? I reached out to you!

- That's exactly why, - Chris nodded toward the sweating Kilgrave. - I'll kill him. Only you matter, not them! I'll kill him for you. Only because this bastard won't leave you alone.

- I... - Jessica looked at him with sadness. - I don't need this kind of help, Biggie Smalls.

- Step asid...

Jessica, with lightning speed and simply inhuman strength, delivered an uppercut straight to the jaw of an unsuspecting Chris.

No, he saw the punch, felt its power with every fiber of his being, but the moment he saw Jessica—his best friend—raise her hand against him, all thoughts left his head.

The punch was good. Probably the strongest punch he'd ever received. He wasn't even surprised when the shockwave in his head knocked him out briefly, and his body flew up and crashed through the window of a nearby building. Jessica had launched him to the second floor with a single damn punch.

When he came to...

Jessica and Kilgrave were gone.

And for the first time in a long time...

Chris wanted to cry. Cry like a little child.

Because once again, he had nothing.

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